


My Body's A Zombie For You

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, zombies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because it's the zombie apocalypse, doesn't give you an excuse to be hysterical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Body's A Zombie For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilesune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesune/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt from **[](http://thundercalls.tumblr.com)[**thundercalls**](http://thundercalls.tumblr.com) who asked: Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, zombie apocalypse?**

In another time, in any other place, it would have been funny. But as they secure the remnants of the Hale house, they can hear them. That wordless hunger - of hands grasping for anything. Their grip like iron. Desperate for what they don’t have, what they can never be.

“I can’t believe we are still -” grunts Stiles kicking an arm back outside before slamming the door and pushing in the deadbolt. “I am so sick of fighting zombies.”

Derek does a quick inventory of the burnt out room before vaulting over the couch and pushes a bookcase part way against the door which muffles the scratching at the door somewhat.

“Don’t say that,” he says in a harsh whisper like it’ll do them any good to be quiet. Like zombies aren’t already trying to eat through the door.

“What?” Stiles says, he’s a little busy with bracing the door. Say what you will, the dead are fucking strong. It was thanks to Derek’s quick reflexes that Stiles isn’t one of the them when he caught Stiles mid-stumble as they ran from the hoard.

“The Z word. Don’t say it.”

He looks so serious. Like Derek’s typical aneurysm face has been amped up significantly since the whole walking dead became a thing. His face shifts into something that looks like frustration. Stiles is an expert at detecting that in werewolves.

“Why not?” he grumbles. Because that’s what they are. Zombies.

Derek makes a huff of irritation, as he finally pushes the heavy bookcase totally across the door with minimal effort.

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

Stiles turns his head towards him and feels his face breaking out into the real smile he’s had all evening. He flashes him a half grin which Derek mirrors if only in the crinkle of his eyes. It’s practically a full on smile coming from Derek. He’ll blame the flush in his cheeks and spike in heart rate on the near death experience.

“Door’s secure!” he calls out behind him as Derek crowds him deeper into the house where the rest of the group has made camp. Each holding a weapon. It figures that Lydia would be the only one with an actual gun.

Danny's in the process of dumping the bag he's been carrying all night on the scarred table that seems to hold the room together. A box of bandages is the first thing he fishes out. Jackson drifts in somewhere behind him, with a bloodied baseball bat, knocking his shoulder into Danny's. Danny relaxes slightly and continues inventorying the medical supplies.

"The back's secure," Jackson grunts out. There's a steady thrum of tension in the room before Allison and Scott clamber down the stairs rounding off their group in what remains of the dining room.

Derek's expression is tight, hard. None of them were expecting it to come to this. 

Stiles shifts towards the boarded up bay window to look through the tiny slats that filter in the moonlight.

"How many?"

"A lot," Stiles says, biting his lip.

Derek grunts noncommittally, like the hordes of zombies outside is just a pesky annoyance. Like he's got better things to do for the evening than holding his family home up against zombies. He crosses his arms, drawing up his shirt - there's an angry mess of a bite on his hip bone.

"Oh my God!" gasps Allison. "Did you get bit?"

The room titters with unease as all eyes swing to Derek, who's uncrossed his arms, shirt falling back over his stomach, and is glaring a hole into Allison's head. 

"No, no, he's fine," says Stiles pulling himself in front of Derek. "Right Derek?"

"Peachy," glares Derek at Allison.

"See? He's totally fine," says Stiles, licking his lips nervously. "No need to get hysterical."

**Author's Note:**

> Undergoing reediting and possible expansion.


End file.
